


Sanguine Personalities

by winged_mammal



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Bloodplay, F/F, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway, Seven, and a bit of rough sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanguine Personalities

**Author's Note:**

> Note that there's possibly offensive sexual slang and unapologetically rough strapon sex contained herein.

She calls you captain when you fuck her.

It would be a benediction if not for the way her body moves as the word escapes her throat. There is nothing reverent in the clawing of her hands at your thighs, or the twisting of her spine against your breasts, or the snarl that contorts her features as she pushes back against your thrusts. Blood from your hands gathers in sharp crimson relief on the gleaming metal of her hips, the rivulets flowing over the contours of her implants and terminating in droplets that splash against the paleness of her calves and were you in any other mood you might recognize them to be the solemn sacrifice to her lost innocence that they are.

She brings your palm to her lips and licks the blood away as she comes.

~~~

When she steps into your quarters at night, or what passes for night in this godforsaken quadrant, you merely stand and meet her silent gaze, and from there it is a short trip to your bed where her hands rip at the sheets when you bury your face in her cunt even as you work at securing your cock against your pelvis. You are uncertain when or how it began - though you know she could answer that question in explicit detail if you gave her the opportunity to catch her breath you never do and never ask, instead shoving all thought aside as you muscle her onto her knees and enter her in one quick motion, a hand at her neck pressing her head into the mattress.

She was tight, impossibly tight, the first time - that much, you do remember. Your hand found its way to her dripping cunt as your teeth left bruises around her nipples, and when your fingers sought entrance only two were able to work their way in. But it was more than enough to make her scream, more than enough for you to become addicted to the way she moved around you as she came. She can take the entire length of you now, and you mutter something about how hungry she is for your cock as you release her neck and move your hands to her hips to begin a bruising rhythm, uncaring as the metal ridges of her remaining Borg implants cut into your palms.

The muscles of her back shift beneath her skin as she rises onto her hands and eagerly meets your thrusts. You seize a fistful of her hair at the scalp and pull her neck back against your shoulder, working at the strained lines of her tendons with your teeth and it is with this that she calls out your rank. It has become an unspoken challenge, you fucking her with abandon to get her to say it, her resisting longer and longer each time. You don't know for certain what will happen on the day she never does, but you do know it will be dangerous and lust surges through your veins as your mind is filled with thoughts of her riding you like this - brutal, unforgiving.

It works well for both of you; she, a former drone who needs to feel _something_ , and you, a captain whose frustrations can be released no other way. She can take it, _wants_ to take it, and you know even as you break her skin with your teeth and smear the blood over her flesh with your tongue that were she not the only person on the ship who could handle you in these moments without it affecting their work you would be unable to bring yourself to take what you need, to give what she wants, and the thought makes you growl against her throat and wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to you as your cock makes up for the loss of penetrative depth at this angle by striking her gspot with every stroke.

You avoid touching her clit; you did, once, but quickly found you preferred to drive her slowly to the brink with only your thrusts inside of her, couldn't resist hearing her turn incoherent and desperate to be fucked harder, deeper. She doesn't disappoint, her intermittent low moans becoming nearly constant whimpering cries and her hands scramble for contact with your skin, finally gaining purchase on the swells of your ass.

As her hips rock against yours you shift and lose your balance, pitching your bodies forward. She throws her arms out, catching herself on her elbows, and a cry escapes from her lips at the new angle afforded by this position. Your breath comes in harsh pants against her back, the obscenely wet sound of your thrusts feeding your own growing desperation as you move your hands around her front to clutch her shoulders, and you can feel her breasts swaying against your forearms with the motion of your bodies.

Your mouth seeks contact with the thick flesh between her shoulderblades, needing to leave one more mark on her body before your release claims you. But it is pulled taut, too taut to take between your teeth as her muscles strain beneath you and it is all you can do to not gnash at her skin as a guttural moan escapes your lungs when you come. Your hips momentarily pause until you feel her cunt clench around you and you resume a rapid shallow rhythm, scarcely withdrawing before pushing back in. The waves of your orgasm still flow through your veins as you grunt against her spine, telling her how hot and wet she is, that you know she wants to come with you inside her, that you want to hear her scream.

You become aware of her tongue roaming over the flayed palm of your right hand and know she is close. The first time she did this you were wary, flinching and moving your hand away in unthinking compliance with centuries-old taboos. But you caught a brief glimpse of the rapture on her face and allowed it the next time, fascinated by her reaction. You don't know if it is the implied intimacy of the act that compels her to do it, or the taste, or the knowledge that she is consuming you in the most fundamental of ways - whatever it is, it unfailingly serves as enough to send her over the edge and she drops your wrist, her hand searching wildly for something solid to grip as she pushes back against you, her blood-stained lips parting as she gasps for air, wide eyes staring sightlessly at the wall in disbelief that it can be like this, can _still_ be like this after so long -

\- and _this_ is what you wanted, what you needed before you ever knew it: to see her out of control, no longer Borg, no longer _Seven_ ; to see only a woman yielding to your touch, to pleasure being given and received, becoming - in that instant of overwhelming sensation that makes her lungs freeze and her body arc toward yours - purely, primally, human.


End file.
